


Body and Spirit

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Plot - Disturbing/frightening/unsettling, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - Tear-jerker, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2002-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrian in the Den of the Orcs. What more needs to be said. This is a very dark story,  containing scenes of rape, violence and degradation - it is not for the faint hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Body and Spirit

Celebrîan bit her lips till they bled to keep herself from sobbing in terror as she was dragged bodily along the dank filthy corridor. Her hands were bound viciously behind her back, the ropes cutting into her flesh. On either side of her a hellish captor crushed her upper arm in his hateful hand. Her bare feet stumbled and scraped through the unspeakable detritus of the floor.

They stopped outside a heavy iron door, and pushing it open with a bone-grating groan, they thrust her inside. She lurched and fell, cutting her cheek against the rough stone. The door was dragged shut, and the iron scrape of a key blocked any further sound from outside.

The cell was dark, not a glimmer of light pierced the blackness. She shuffled backwards along the floor until she reached a wall, then slumped against it, no longer able to control her weeping.  
They were dead, all of them, and it was her fault. She sobbed aloud, ‘Oh Elrond, I am sorry. I should have listened to you. You were right, as always.’

She had wanted so much to visit Lórien, and see her parents. Elrond had forbidden the journey, claiming it was too dangerous. Refusing to heed him, she waited until he was away from home before setting off. Her body racked with grief. All the elves that she had commanded to accompany her were dead. Not one was left alive, not one to go for help, not one to tell her husband where she was. How long would it be before he discovered she had not made it to Lórien? How long before he came for her?

‘I do not deserve rescue’, she thought bitterly. ‘I deserve to suffer and die in this place.’ A black hopelessness surged over her, and she let her tears flow unrestrained.

She did not know how long she sat in sorrow but after a time she became conscious of a tight discomfort. She needed to relieve herself. Pushing herself upright against the wall, she slowly felt her way around the walls. The cell was small, no more than six feet in any direction. It was entirely bare. No sleeping pallet, no bucket, not even a drain in the floor. Dismay rolled over her as her need pressed more urgently. Must she use the floor?

 

A loud noise flooded her blood with fear, and she forgot her dilemma. She pressed back against the wall as the door in front of her scraped open. The light of the lantern dazzled her and she turned her head away, tears springing to her eyes.

“Well, well.” A voice rasped unpleasantly. “What a fine catch my boys have brought me.”

The door was slammed shut, and heavy steps approached.

She clenched her eyes shut, not daring to look.

“Come, my pretty one.” Mocking now, “Do you not wish to see what Marlûk has brought you?”

Slowly she opened her lids. He was grotesque in the flickering light. Short and swart, skin pocked and warty, green eyes squint and leering, his foul mouth filled with yellow fangs.

A cry of despair burst from her and she closed her eyes again, tears leaking from beneath the lids.

He laughed. A hideous rumble. “If that’s how you feel, I shall just take them away again.”

She risked another look. He carried a coarse, dark loaf under one arm, and two buckets in one twisted hand. One filled with water, the other empty.

Her forgotten need returned with a vengeance, burning in her.

“No.” she had spoken before she realised it.

“Oh.” He sneered, “My beauty deigns to speak.” He hefted the full bucket, “Perhaps she is thirsty?”

She shook her head, wordlessly.

“Ahhh.” He grinned evilly and lifted the empty bucket.

She looked away in shame, while down below the pain become unbearable. She would not hold it more than another few minutes.  
He set the pot on the floor and stepped back, holding out a hand in invitation.

‘No!’ she thought. ‘I’d rather die!’ But unfortunately that wasn’t the choice. She could use the bucket or soil herself.

She used a foot to drag it over, then positioning herself over it, she managed to lift her gown and squat without revealing herself. Immediately the noisy release of hot fluid caused her cheeks to burn. There was no sound from her captor and she kept her eyes lowered, afraid of what she might see if she lifted them.

 

Marlûk looked on in fascination. She was truly beautiful. Her face flawless and carved, the silver hair cascading over her shoulders. Her shame excited him as he watched her, her lips parting slightly with relief as she finished. Perhaps even her husband had never seen this intimate picture. Inwardly he felt a heady anticipation, they would be in this den for many days to come, he would have plenty of time to enjoy her. He could take things slowly, it was better that way. He allowed himself a small moment to savour the thought of what her naked skin would look like, feel like. How her beautiful hair would be against his dark skin. He felt himself stir and pushed the thoughts aside. Not yet. She would be too resistant the first day. Better to wait. Let her ripen and soften in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian in the Den of the Orcs. What more needs to be said. This is a very dark story, containing scenes of rape, violence and degradation - it is not for the faint hearted.

The darkness roiled against Celebrían’s eyes, as she fought to keep them open. The dreams that came when she closed them were dark and fearful. She felt despair, how long had it been now, in this awful place? She had no way to tell, only her body spoke of the passing of time, demanding food or water, complaining endlessly of the cold, and the hard stone floor. Her mind hammered against the walls of the prison, her eyes straining to catch a drop of light, her ears for the tiniest sound. She had tried talking aloud but the dank walls had buried the sound, smothering it and sending back only a sad despair.  
Her stomach rumbled, and she reached for the loaf, almost half gone now, and nibbled the edge. It was rough and heavy, but wholesome enough and at least it was something to do.

 

A sound! Her ears pricked, her mind fastening on the distant noise. Footsteps. Closer. Fear began to seep into her veins. Was he coming back? Or would it be some new horror?

A yellow light oozed under the door, shining over the dirty flags. Her eyes fastened on it greedily, soaking it up. The rough groaning of the door spilled the light over her, and she shaded her eyes from the surfeit of it. The lamp flickered and leapt, jostled in a dark hand. She pushed herself upright against the wall, pressing her back to it.  
It was the same Orc.

“Ah, my pretty.” His voice scraped her ears. “Did you sleep well? Comfortable enough for you?”

She lifted her head and met his eyes in silence.

“We are a haughty one, aren’t we?” he laughed harshly, then lowered his voice to a menace, “That’ll change, my beauty, oh yes.”

She swallowed her fear, and clenched her fists to stop them shaking.  
He lifted her buckets, depositing them outside the door and returning with fresh ones.

“See how I wait on you with my own hands?” he sneered, “Captain Marlûk carrying a bucket of night soil. And not one word of gratitude.”

He fetched in a straw filled palliasse and flung it at her feet, followed by a rough blanket. “There.” He mocked, “Am I not concerned for your comfort, lady elf?”

“Thank you.” The words forced themselves past her dry lips, compelled involuntarily by years of courteous ritual.

“That’s better.” He smirked.

He turned from her, but did not leave, instead he kicked the door shut.

Fear leapt in her now, firing her veins, trembling her limbs, and she pushed herself back into the farthest corner of the cell.

“Yes, my pretty.” He advanced on her slowly, his face leering, his voice low. “Now Marlûk wants a little something in return.”

Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her dry mouth, and dread melted her gut.

 

Marlûk savoured each step as he approached her slowly. The soft grey eyes were dark with fear, the pulse fluttering at the marble throat. He cornered her, and she pressed back into the wall, lifting her chin in useless defiance. He raised a hand to stroke that exquisite face and she struck at him, flailing her hands at his head.

“No!” she cried, “Do not touch me!”

He laughed and gripped her arms in his cruel hands. She was strong, her body twisting and bending as he leaned closer. She kicked out, but her bare foot was no match for his thick muscle. Her struggles excited him, and for a moment he thought of going down that road. But no, the other was ultimately more satisfying.

“Listen to me.” He hissed, pressing back hard to force both her arms against the wall. “I’m going to give you a choice.”

She stilled for a moment, her eyes a mixture of fear and anger.

“You can choose to fight, and I’ll bring in four of my boys to hold you down.” He snarled, “They can watch, and when I’ve finished, it’ll only be fair to give them a turn too.”

Her face was ashen, her mouth white and twisted.

“Or it can be just the two of us, and I won’t be any rougher than you make necessary.”

She looked directly at him, her eyes pleading. He watched carefully, savouring each delicious moment as she made the choice. She was indeed a beauty, lips carved and full, bones delicate, skin fine. Her hair a molten river and her ears exquisite. And she was his, for a time at least, to do with as he pleased. Pleasure stirred in him at the thought.

Her eyes dulled, lowered and she slumped against the wall. Good girl.

He released her arms and they dropped lifeless to her sides. He lifted a hand to stroke the softness of her silver hair. The fair silk against his dark skin. He shivered in anticipation.

“Lie down.” He kicked the mattress up against the wall.

She complied, turning her face towards the stone and closing her eyes.

 

Celebrían squeezed her eyes closed and tried to imagine herself far, far away. She could not bring herself to think of home, or of Lórien. She did not want to sully any of them with the taint of this place. She thought instead of the Sea. Of sailing on a ship over the grey ocean.

 

Marlûk spent a long time just looking down at her, feeling the heat build in him. Her robes spread softly, clinging to her lithe limbs, and moulding over her tight bosom. Her hair fanned over the rough ticking and onto the dank floor. He knelt and gathered it up, smoothing it down beside her. He touched a dark hand to her cheek, how soft it was. Stroked it down over her head, running a gnarled finger, its cruel nail long and twisted, over her fragile ear.

He turned his attention to her neck and throat, the alabaster skin cold and shrinking from his touch as he brushed it. A groan escaped him, and she tightened her eyelids, a tear seeping out. His mouth watered to see it.

He fumbled with the closure of her bodice, the delicate fastenings defeating his clumsy fingers. Impatiently he tugged at it, and moved to get his dagger.

No, wait, there was a better way.

He lifted her hands into position. “Undo them,” he growled, “Save me tearing your gown.”

Her movement was unhurried, habitual and when she was finished she returned her hands to their dormant place.

Slowly, slowly he pushed back the soft fabric, gradually bringing his prize into view. Her breasts were everything he had imagined. Tight and high. Nipples taut with cold and fear, the skin ivory and flawless. His greed pressed urgently now. Bursting and impatient. He hastened to loosen his clothing, groaning with pleasure as he freed himself into the cold air. He raised a hand to her bosom, the skin smooth and soft beneath his touch as he ran his palm over her. The ripe, tight feel of the breast as he closed his fingers around it, caused him to groan in pleasure. With his other hand he began to stroke himself, steady, rhythmic movements. He moved his hand to her other breast now, rubbing and pressing. His thick, swart fingers pressing into her delicate white flesh, his talons pinching the pale pink nipples till they glared red. His pleasure built, heat rising in him as he worked faster. He lifted a strand of her hair, draping it over the beautiful breasts, stroking the softness over her pert curves. He was near now, his breath rough, strokes fast and urgent. Just as he approached the peak, he lifted a single finger and brushed her lips. She flinched, and he spilled himself with a harsh cry. His emission splashed onto the silk of her hair, the dark of his member against the silver sheet. He moaned with release, wiping himself with the shining tresses.  
  
Celebrían lifted her head to feel the wind in her hair, the ocean spray cold in her face. She did not feel him draw the blanket over her, nor the door close as he left.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian in the Den of the Orcs. What more needs to be said. This is a very dark story, containing scenes of rape, violence and degradation - it is not for the faint hearted.

Presently Celebrían returned to herself, the straw mattress creaking beneath her as she stirred, its rough comfort a welcome relief from the dank floor. She opened her eyes, he had left the lantern and the yellow light warmed the dark walls. She pushed back the blanket and sat up, listening. All was quiet, save for the tiny crackle of the wick, and her own breathing.

A coldness on her chest prompted her to lift a hand, her dress was unfastened. Had she done that? Or had it been…?

‘No! I shall not think of it.’ She scattered the slowly coalescing thoughts, her hands deftly redoing the garment. ‘It shall be as if it had never happened.’ She smoothed her gown and ran her hands over her hair. The congealing coldness that smeared onto her palm shrank her skin with horror, and she recoiled, shuddering with disgust.

‘What…?’

Do not think. Do not think.

Wash it away. Let there be no mark left. Neither here, nor in my mind. She stumbled over to the bucket and with a trembling hand, dipped the cold water onto her silver hair, rubbing at it, wiping it, erasing his leaving.

There. It was done. She was clean again. She breathed deeply, clearing her mind, emptying it. Her stomach growled and she welcomed the distraction, the familiar normality of the feeling.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, the blanket comforting around her shoulders, she nibbled a morsel of the bread, watching the play of the flame, dancing and flickering. She hummed softly to herself under her breath, and her mind wandered, walking in new paths, safe and alone in a place where evil could never reach.

 

Marlûk’s step was quick and strong as he headed towards the mess hall. A comfortable feeling of power and satisfaction filled him. He had taken his pleasure, and now he was hungry. The smell of fresh, roasting meat made his mouth water and as he entered the dark, noisy vault he rubbed his hands in anticipation. The low-roofed stone cavern was warm and poorly lit, crowded with tables, the ceiling and walls flickering with red light from the cooking fires.

“Oh ho! Our Captain returns.” This from his lieutenant, Snorbeg. “And with an appetite by looks of him.” The younger Orc met his commander’s eye with a look just short of insolence. Greed and envy on the broad visage.

“That’s right, Snorbeg.” Marlûk snarled into his face, “So you’d better fetch me some food right away.”

The subordinate rose slowly and made his way to the spits while the Captain took his place at the table, looking round at the others. They nodded carefully, avoiding his eyes, attention fixed firmly on their food.

A loud disturbance at the entrance made everyone look up, and what Marlûk saw made him grin with pleasure. A small party of Orcs had entered, at their head a gnarled veteran, his face bearing many scars, two fingers missing from the hand at the end of the long left arm.

“Norburz!” Marlûk strode forward to welcome his friend with a hearty slap on the back. “By the bowels of the earth! It’s good to see you.”

“Marlûk! Well met!” The older Orc returned his embrace. “Now I know my boys’ll have good hospitality.”

“Are you hungry?” Marlûk led the other over to his table, dismissing the others with a curse. “We have plenty of fresh meat.”

Snorbeg slammed a groaning platter onto the table before the two Captains, glistening hunks of roasted meat piled high, succulent flesh hot from the spit, the bones already split, dark marrow oozing, fat sizzling and dripping, skin crisp and brown.

“Ah.” Norburz speared a tasty cut with his knife, and raised the rich, savoury joint to his dark lipped mouth, twisted yellow teeth biting through the crumbly, melting crackling to the sweet flesh beneath. He chewed loudly, groans of appreciation through his slurping mastication, then wiped a scarred hand over his mouth. “Delicious.” He belched. “I prefer Man flesh myself, it’s stronger, but there’s a lot to be said for Elf.”

Marlûk grinned and shouted at Snorbeg to bring some ale.

“I can see you’re going to have problems with that one.” Remarked Norburz, “Getting a bit too big for his boots.”

“Ach.” spat Marlûk, “I’m not worried, he’ll step out of line soon enough, and that’ll give me a chance to teach him a lesson.”

 

 

“How long will you be here for?” Marlûk asked the other Orc as they sat back, replete from their meal.

“Only tonight, “ returned Norburz, rummaging in his pack and producing a leather flask. “We’re on our way to Gundabad, and I’m eager to get there.” He held out the bottle to Marlûk, “Now then, my friend, try this.”

Marlûk took the vessel and unstopped it, sniffing.

“I took it from a Man travelling north through Mirkwood. Brewed from seaweed, if you can believe that.”

Marlûk grimaced but took a draught nevertheless. Norburz was a great sampler of brews, and if he offered you something it was usually worth a try. The salty jolt was rapidly followed by a warm suffusion, and he nodded appreciatively.

“So,” his friend took a swig of his own, and leaned in conspiratorially, “I hear you’ve got yourself something a little special.” He motioned with his eyes, “downstairs.”

Marlûk bristled slightly, causing the other to laugh and hit him on the arm. “Ach! I’m not after a share! Elves are too delicate for my taste. I prefer Women, they’re tougher and they last longer.” He lowered his voice again, “I wouldn’t mind a look at her though.”

 

A slight sound started Celebrían awake from her dream, and she looked wildly about her with confusion. Her heart fell as she realised that she was still in her prison, and she tugged the blanket closer about her. The noise came again, footsteps and voices. Stopping outside the door. Fear rose in her, but she forced herself to breath slowly.

Don’t look. Don’t move. Don’t think.

She rocked slightly, humming a song of the Sea.

A harsh grating heralded the opening of the grill in the door, but she refused to hear it.

 

“Very nice.” growled Norburz appreciatively. “Have you sampled her yet?”

“Just a taste.” grinned Marlûk. “You know me, I don’t like to rush.”

“Yes.” Norburz put his eye to the grate again. “She’s starting to fade already though.” He looked up at the other, “That’s why I don’t like Elves, you’re just getting started and they up and die on you.”

“Ah, but that’s the whole challenge.” Marlûk licked a red tongue over his thick lips, “To keep her alive and willing as long as possible.” He slammed the shutter over and they made their way back.

“Hmmm.” Norburz mused. “You know, I’ve something in my pack that you might find helpful.”  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian in the Den of the Orcs. What more needs to be said. This is a very dark story, containing scenes of rape, violence and degradation - it is not for the faint hearted.

Celebrían roamed the deck of the ship, her bare feet silent in their urgent steps. She pushed open the door to each cabin. Looked in every cupboard, carefully searched every locker. But she could find nothing. Her stomach was loud in its hunger and she could get no peace from it. Why was there no food? She remembered eating the other day. Where had she found it then? ‘It was in the other place.’ Her mind whispered. No. That was the bad place. She did not want to go there.

But it was too late. Her body was overruling her mind, the cold, dark walls fading into view, the wail of hunger clawing at her belly. The lamp was guttering, flicking dark shadows onto the ceiling, the stench of seeping, musty stone mixing with the shameful smell from the bucket in the corner. Her blanket had slipped to the floor, leaving her shivering in the damp air, and she tugged it back into place. But there was no food here either. She had eaten the last of the loaf the day before. The rough, coarse bread, of a kind that she would not have even fed the servants, now loomed in her memory like a feast.  
Getting slowly to her feet, she moved to the water bucket. It was getting low too, the last inches gritty with dust. She dipped some and gulped it down. Perhaps it would quieten the hunger enough to let her escape again.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Fear, familiar and leaden dragged at her limbs, abhorrence crawling across her skin, but her traitorous stomach clamoured in anticipation of being fed. She pulled the blanket closer about her shoulders, drawing the barest scrap of comfort from its rough weight, and braced herself as the door opened.

The smell of food hit her immediately, the warm wholesome aroma of hot soup and fresh bread causing her mouth to water uncontrollably. She tightened her hands about the edges of the blanket and looked Marlûk in the eye as he entered.

 

She was standing waiting as he opened the door. Her drawn face was hollow-eyed and etched with loathing, but the look of hunger was unmistakable. He smiled slowly to himself as he closed the door, this was going so well. Ignoring her restless eyes, he crossed to the pallet and set down his tray, seating himself cross-legged upon the mattress.

“Hungry?” He asked with a slow grin, as he uncovered a dish of thick broth, releasing a delicious steam into the room.

She made no reply but her throat moved as she swallowed, and she could not take her eyes from the food.

“Come.” A misshapen hand patted the place beside him. “Eat.”

Warily, suspicion clouding her face, she edged along the wall and crouched at the very end of the pallet, as far from him as possible.

His yellow eyes fixed on her, hunger of a different sort in their aberrant depths. “Closer, my pretty one.” He growled.

She clutched the blanket more tightly about her but she did not move.

He smiled to himself again, and looked away from her, turning his attention to the food. Slowly, he stirred the horn spoon through the soup, savoury curls of steam raising the rich aroma. From the corner of an eye, he saw her edge towards him. He broke off a small corner of the soft white loaf, no more than a mouthful, and dipped it into the dish. He turned towards her, holding out the morsel, warm and tasty.

 

Celebrían trembled, but whether from fear or anticipation she did not know. His fingers were thick and heavy, the blunt claws dark and vile, but the food they held was soft and fragrant.

‘Do not take it.’ part of her whispered. ‘It is what he wants.’

But her hunger was loud and distracting. If she ate it would be silent and she could leave again.

‘Be strong.’

The long outstretched arm did not waver, a drip of soup fell onto the floor, a precious drop wasted. She swallowed, her mouth wet and craving, the warm taste almost palatable.

She snatched it from him and crammed it into her mouth, intending to savour it slowly, but unable to prevent herself from gulping it down. The momentary satisfaction was soon drowned by a storm of hunger, the uncontrollable watering of her mouth washing out every last dreg of deliciousness, dissolving every melting crumb. Vainly she licked at her fingers, but it was finished, gone.

He was holding out another. Greedily she stretched out her hand for it, but he lifted it away, holding it out of reach, shaking his head with a lascivious grin. Dismay and disappointment engulfed her, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. She dropped her hands, and he returned the titbit, leaning forward, bringing it towards her. She raised her hand again to take it, but he grinned, and evaded her grasp, advancing it towards her face.

He wanted her to take it from his fingers. She shuddered with disgust at the dark, gnarled hand, but the golden broth seeped into the moist bread, the tempting aroma a torment to her flooding mouth. He brought it closer, she could almost taste it now. Perhaps if she did not look.

 

Her eyes closed as her mouth opened. The pale lips parted just enough to reveal the pink, hungry mouth, her anticipation glistening. Marlûk felt his breath quicken.

“Wider.” He whispered, and when she complied he placed the reward on her tongue, a slow smile of satisfaction and anticipation on his coarse features.

She ate quickly, then looked at him for more. He held up another piece, knowing that once the edge was gone from her hunger she would no longer submit. Again, he held it before her, again she closed her eyes before taking it, but this time her mouth opened willingly, stretching towards him almost with eagerness. He pushed the morsel between her lips, his own mouth watering in response, while down below he hardened.

He moved very slightly closer. She did not draw back.

‘Look at me.’ He growled as he brought another offering. Want and shame, need and loathing, vied in her soft grey eyes, giving over to momentary pleasure as he thrust the sop into her mouth.

‘Just one more,’ he thought, ‘then the wine.’

This time as he fed her, watching every nuance in her gaze, every play over the delicate features, he left a finger in just long enough for her lips to close about it. The pleasure that shot through him at the soft wet warmth vied with that from her recoil of horror, her mouth twisting in disgust.

He laughed, a guttural growl, then picked up the wine cup and filled it.

“Here.” He held it out to her, smirking. “Take the nasty taste away.”

She took it warily, and sipped.

Marlûk watched the dark red liquid stain the lips and knew he must have them tonight. Perhaps he should try out Norburz’ gift.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian in the Den of the Orcs. What more needs to be said. This is a very dark story, containing scenes of rape, violence and degradation - it is not for the faint hearted.

The wine was coarse but sweet, warming her throat and belly. She drank eagerly, watching him over the rim of the cup. He lifted the soup bowl and set it in front of her, balancing the bread on the edge. She lowered the half-empty cup slowly, suspiciously and he took it from her with a harsh chuckle, lifting it to his filthy mouth to drain the last of the wine.

“Eat.” He rasped, turning away from her to fill the cup again.

She did, pushing the soft, white bread into her mouth, followed by spoonful after spoonful of the broth. Warmth seeped into her, comfort and satisfaction driving away the cold and the distraction. She felt her head begin to swim a little from the wine.

She ate quickly, swallowing hasty mouthfuls before he could take it away again. With her body satisfied, her mind could leave. Wiping up the remainder of the broth with the last of the bread, she crammed the final mouthful into her mouth before looking up.

A slow and lascivious smile distorted his already misshapen face, she suppressed a shudder, looking instead at the wine cup he was offering her again. She snatched it greedily, and gulped the red liquor, spilling a little, knowing it would help her get away.

Wiping her mouth with a hand she tossed the empty cup down, and drawing her blanket tight about her, curled herself tightly up against the wall. Warmth suffused her, her stomach tight and replete, she felt her eyes grow heavy, a strange feeling of sleep driving away her fear as her mind wandered back to its dreams.

 

Marlûk took a little time to collect the discarded dishes and replace them on the tray, a little time for Norburz’ potion to start to take effect. He mused a moment as he lifted the tiny glass flask, its oily contents swirling with a lazy amber light, before replacing it carefully in his belt. To encourage dreaming, the purveyor had said, of which Elves were so fond.

“Well my pretty one.” He whispered harshly, drawing himself closer to her, “Are you dreaming yet?”

She made no reply, her breathing quiet, eyelids gently closed.

He leaned over her, his breath grazing her fine cheek, his hand stroking the long, pale hair. She made a tiny, soft noise and her head moved under his hand, but she did not pull away.

 

The sun was golden on the water, its warmth soporific as she reclined, relaxed and happy, feeling the rise and fall of the ship on its journey. The cushions of the couch beneath her spoke of comfort, and the awning above tugged lightly in the summer wind. The soft whisper of his breath against her cheek came as no surprise, although she had been alone on board. A slight feeling of unease stirred within her, something she should know, but the ethereal thought blew away in the warm breeze and she had no inclination to chase it. A gentle hand caressed her hair, easing her, smoothing away her doubts. She sighed a little and lifted her head. Here all was good, all was comforting. There was no fear. No pain. As long as she stayed here nothing bad could happen. The fingers were gathering her long tresses now, lifting them away from her neck, lightly tracing over her long neck and up over her ears.

“My beauty.” He whispered, his voice like honey, the feel of his lips cool against her skin, his hands stroking her slowly. She could feel his body at her back, the hard chest and muscular limbs. A tiny part of her wondered idly who he was, and how he came to be there, but it did not seem to matter. Only the motion of the boat, and the sun on the waves had importance. Now his mouth sought her ear, the warm breath tickling, the wet tip of the tongue surprising her with a tiny jolt of pleasure. A hand moved over her body, gently exploring her, the fine fingers shapely, the long nails clean and white. Curving over her breasts, and sliding down over the dip at her waist to follow the contour of hip and thigh. More ardently now he caressed her through the fine fabric of her gown, his touch intimate but neither arousing nor disquieting. As he slid his hands beneath the silk, baring her long limbs to the warmth of the sun, she felt the heat of his skin press against hers, and desire quicken his breath. And it seemed natural that it should be so.

 

Marlûk growled softly to himself as he placed his mouth to the back of her white neck. The faint taste of perfume still lingered beneath her hair and he savoured it as he moved his twisted lips over the fine skin and up to her ear. There the growl became a moan as he tasted her with his red tongue, pressing his thick body against her delicate one. He ran a dark hand greedily over her, kneading roughly at her breasts, relishing their ripeness beneath his demanding grasp, digging his heavy nails into the soft fabric. Now down and over the slender curve of thigh and quarters, bringing his crooked fingers to push impatiently against the thin silk between her legs. His blood was high now, and his lust hot. He tugged at her clothing, dragging her gown up over her waist so that his exploration would no longer be impeded. At the sight of the smooth, soft paleness of her skin under his gnarled hand, his breathing became harsher, the pulse of his blood loud. With his twisted fingers, he trespassed into her hidden warmth, causing his readiness to become almost painful, and he hurried to loosen his own clothing. Now as he lay against her back, the dark against the white was yet more exciting, and he paused just a moment at that peak of anticipation and desire, stroking himself slowly against her, knowing that once he entered her his release would be quick.

Her face was in repose despite her clothes being in disarray and her body abandoned to await his pleasure. He pushed his fingers deeper into her, opening the way he would follow, but she betrayed nothing. Even when he withdrew his hand, and entered her roughly, his lust driving him to rut greedily, his hands clutching at her, his rapacious grunts loud in her ear, she made no response, save perhaps a tiny ghost of a smile.

Quick it was, but oh so very sweet, to spill himself, shuddering and groaning, in her depths, his dark face pressed into her sweet hair.  
“Oh, my lady Elf,” he breathed hoarsely, “my own pretty one.”

 

‘Norburz.,’ He thought to himself afterwards as he sat back to readjust his clothing. ‘I owe you one, you old black rat.’ He looked down at her, still lost in her dreams, oblivious to the cold air on her exposed skin, or the sticky wetness smeared on her white thighs. A self-satisfied smirk twisted his mouth, as he reached to tug her gown back down over her nakedness, and drape her once again in her blanket. Usually with Elves the slow death would be starting now, the spirit broken and fled, the light in the eyes gradually fading, but he had a feeling she was going to be with him a while yet. He patted his belt pouch wherein Norburz’ potion was safely tucked, wondering how long it might last him.

 

 

The forward scouts had just returned when he entered the guardroom, and they brought with them the news he had expected. A party of Elves had been spotted in the forest.

“Did they find the ambush site yet?” he questioned the commander.

“No, sir.” The younger Orc replied, “but they were on the trail, it won’t take them more than a day or two.”

“How many were there?” Snorbeg swaggered out of the gloom.

“Four.”

“Ach!” Marlûk was scathing, “Not enough to worry us.”

“They’ll bring up reinforcements if they think we have prisoners,” insinuated his lieutenant.

“It’ll be days before they get here.”

“She should have been killed with the others!” Spat Snorbeg. “Your taste for Elf flesh endangers us all!”

With a snarl, Marlûk whirled and latched a strong hand about the other’s throat, pressing him back against the wall. “Listen to me, Snorbeg.!” He barked, “I’m the Captain, I say what goes, and if I wants Elf flesh I has it! Got that?!” He squeezed harder, making the other’s eyes bulge and his hands scrabble. “Well?”

Snorbeg nodded a croaking acceptance, and the older Orc released his grip with disgust. “Get back to your post, lieutenant, and be grateful I’m not having the skin flayed from your back.”

Snorbeg skulked out the door, rubbing his neck sullenly, and Marlûk turned back to the room to find all the others suddenly very busy.  



End file.
